Pretty Boy
by whitwit
Summary: Pretty boy, Tim, is working the streets as a rent-boy. Ivo wants - no, needs - to save him. Is it possible? Based on the movie 'No Night Is Too Long'. AU
1. Making Quota

**A/N: I know. I know. I should be working on On The Roof, not posting another No Night Is Too Long story. This story came to me one morning and I couldn't stop myself. It's unbeta'ed. All errors are my own.**

**The story is mine. The characters are not.**

** Pretty boy, Tim, is working the streets as a rent-boy. Ivo wants (no needs) to save him. Is it possible?**

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**Chapter 1 - Making Quota**

It had been a difficult day. I'm not using that as an excuse, but it explained the need to drown my sorrows.

Today, the fifteenth of September, marked the first anniversary of Isabel's death. I missed my twin sister terribly. She'd always been my sounding board, someone I could talk to when life seemed unbearable. I drove to the cemetery early in the morning with a bouquet of yellow tulips. I knew she couldn't give me any answers, but she would listen. It was comforting to be near her again and I imagined that she would look down on my miserable life, take pity and help me. It had rained all night and as I pulled out of my parking spot, my car got stuck in the mud. I managed to push the car out, but I missed my first lecture because I had to go back to the flat to change out of my wet and muddy clothes.

The head of the department had called me in and blasted me for being late and for some complaint he'd received from a parent of one of my students. The student had told his parents that the reason he was failing was because I had been unfair in my assessment of his project. He claimed that I had it out for him.

It has been one month, 2 days and fourteen hours since Ewan left me for a younger man. We'd been together for over a year. I remembered his angry face as I stared at my own in the mirror of the men's restroom at the school. His hurtful words resounded in my mind and a stabbing pain struck my heart making me bend over in agony.

To top it all off, to complete this disastrous day, Tilda McFadden had made a pass at me after class. I was not in the mood to have some first-year female drooling all over me. I pushed her away when she tried to press herself against me and she fell back, hitting her head against the wall. She screamed and threatened to report me for sexual harassment. I finally calmed her down by taking her for tea and scones at the Lemondrop Tea Shoppe.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes as I downed my third shot of whiskey at the bar of the local pub. Even though the pub was walking distance from my flat, I hadn't dropped by in months. The barman was new and I wondered briefly what had happened to the old one.

"Bad day?" he asked. I looked up at him. His large brown eyes were filled with concern, but I knew this was just an act. He really didn't care. It was his job. It brought him better tips.

Afraid to answer aloud for fear of breaking down, I simply gave him a weak smile. He held up the bottle and quirked an eyebrow. I nodded and watched as he poured the whiskey into my shot glass.

"Yeah, I get it. No worries, though, mate. Things will look better after a nice kip tonight." He spoke with authority, an expert in the field of "drinking away your sorrows".

"If you want to talk about it…," He left the sentence hang there and waited a moment to see if I would respond, but I couldn't even look at him again. I heard his footsteps as he walked down to another customer.

Twirling the shot glass in my hand, I watched the liquid swirl into a golden blur. My mind was already numb. I downed it in one gulp and relished the burn in my throat.

A man sitting alone at a table was watching me as he spoke into his phone. He nodded at me when he saw me looking at him.

I probably wouldn't have noticed the young boy that walked in about then if the barman hadn't yelled for him to get out.

"I don't need you bothering my customers!"

"Easy, mate. I'm meeting a bloke for a job interview," the boy shot back.

"A job interview," the barman repeated incredulously.

"Yeah. Honest."

"You're lying! Piss off!"

His eyes met mine. Grinning, he quickly made his way around the tables. He hopped on the stool next to mine, wrapping his long jean-clad legs around its column.

"Hiya," he greeted my surprised expression. "I'm ready for my interview, sir."

The barman raised his brows, suspiciously.

"You know him?" he asked me.

After hesitating for only a second, I nodded. I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was his smile. Although it was quite cold outside, he wore no coat. His jumper was tattered, the elbows worn down to threads, but he smelled clean. His long, dark hair brushed the top of his bony shoulders as he turned his head to face me. His face was flushed from the cold and his rosy cheeks were more pronounced with skin so pale it seemed translucent. He had a dimple in his chin and I resisted the urge to touch it. I couldn't take my eyes off of his cherry lips and when he noticed that I was staring, he graced me with a sweet smile and the most perfect white teeth I'd ever seen. His green eyes crinkled with mischief. Pretty. That's what he was. He was a pretty boy. There was no other way to describe him.

I had to admit. This was a nice distraction. I returned the smile, a genuine one, the first one of the day for me.

"Buy me a drink?" he asked boldly.

I lifted my hand to call the barman over. "What do you want?" I asked him.

"The same thing you want," he answered with a smirk. I stopped breathing for a second. Was he coming on to me? That would be nice. No, I was misreading this. It was the alcohol coursing through my veins, I decided.

"Is whiskey okay?"

"Perfect." He placed his forearms on the bar and leaned forward, expectantly.

The barman came over with a frown.

"Two whiskeys." I ordered.

"I need to see ID for him," the barman replied, pointing at the boy with his chin as he wiped the bar in front of us with a rag.

The boy tilted his head and patted his pockets. Mock disappointment laced his voice as he said, "Must have left it at home. I'm eighteen, though."

"Sorry. It's the law, lads." He took the bottle and poured me another drink. "I'm afraid that's the last one for you, mate."

"I'll have a Coca Cola then," the boy pouted.

After he brought him his drink, I turned and asked, "Who are you?"

"Name's Tim. Tim Cornish," he answered brightly. He held out his hand and I took it. It was surprisingly soft and warm. The hairs on my arms stood up as if I'd been jolted with a mild electric shock and I shivered.

"Ivo. Ivo Steadman," I told him pulling my hand away.

"Nice to meet you, Ivo." He looked around to see if the barman was watching and then reached for my drink. He poured half of it into his glass and chugged it down. "Twenty quid for a blow. Fifty for a fuck."

Stunned, I must have sat there for a full minute before replying. "What?"

"We can go to the loo, but last time the arsehole caught me in there with another bloke and threw us out. I don't want to get you kicked out. We can do it round back. It's dark enough now and no one will see us," he offered with sincerity and a wink.

He was a rent-boy? The barman's reaction to his presence was making sense now. It wasn't as if I'd never been propositioned before and I'd picked up a few guys at clubs in the past, but this was totally unexpected. I was too drunk to respond properly. I wasn't even sure I wanted to tell him to get lost. Was my day getting better or worse? I couldn't tell anymore.

"I-I think you must have me mistaken for someone else," I stammered looking down at my glass.

He placed a long elegant forefinger on the back of my hand and stroked it lightly. "Oh, I don't think I'm mistaken." He spoke with the confidence of a professional, a professional hunter who knew his prey well.

"Are you really eighteen?" I asked.

"Sure," he replied placing his hand on my thigh. Looking up and around before proceeding, he slid it up to my crotch and squeezed gently.

The move surprised me and I jumped off of the stool in shock. I downed the rest of my drink quickly. "I need to go. It was nice meeting you."

"Wait. I'll walk with you," he offered stepping down and following close behind as I stumbled to the door. The floor seemed to shift as I reached for the door and I almost fell forward. Tim grabbed me by the waist and pulled me upright. "Here. Let me help you."

Holding me firmly by the elbow, he led me outside. "So, where are we going?"

"_**We**_ aren't going anywhere. _**I'm**_going home." I said pulling my arm away. I staggered back a couple of steps.

"Oh, come on," he practically begged. Tears welled in his eyes. I had to give it to him. He was good. "Truth is I'm behind today. I need twenty quid to make my quota."

"You have a quota?" I laughed. "I don't believe you."

"He'll beat me if I don't turn all of it in." He murmured this so softly I thought I dreamed it up.

I shook my head and turned to walk off, but he ran in front of me. He pulled up the hem of his jumper, "Look."

I stopped short. My eyes were wide as I saw the bruises along the ribs on his pathetically thin torso. Long red scratches, small ragged scars and what looked like cigarette burns marred the areas around his nipples and collarbone. Instinctively, I reached out and touched one of the burn marks.

"Who did this to you?" I asked, horrified.

He pulled his jumper down. "He did. It doesn't matter. I just need to make my quota."

I stood there staring into his eyes for several long moments. He shuffled his feet. "Please," he whispered.

Leaning against a streetlamp for support, I reached into my pocket for my wallet. I pulled out a twenty and tried to hand it over to him.

"No," he said shaking his head, "I have to earn it. He's watching."

"Wher…," I tried turning my head, but Tim grabbed me around the neck and pulled me into a kiss.

"Don't look," he mumbled into my mouth. He took my hand and dragged me behind a dumpster in the alley. Unzipping my pants with lightning speed, he was on his knees in front of me before I could stop him. I groaned as his hot talented mouth enveloped my soft dick.

"Oh gawd!" I gasped. This is what I needed. Release. Closing my eyes, I felt my body spinning out of control. It wasn't long before I felt myself give in and come forcefully down his throat. My knees nearly buckled and he had to hold me steady as he stood.

Kissing me gently on the lips, he whispered, "Thank you."

My heart and head were pounding. I took deep breaths as I handed him his money. He helped me zip up my pants and then walked with me back to the sidewalk.

"Do you need me to help you get home?" he asked. His eyes showed so much sincerity. It had to be real. He already had his money.

I shook my head and stared at him. He was so pretty. He didn't need to do this for a living. I wanted to tell him to come home with me. I would take care of him. I would never hurt him the way he did. But my mouth wouldn't cooperate. I watched as sauntered down the street to a waiting car and climbed in.

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**Stay tuned. More to come. :)**


	2. The Pursuit of Bliss

**A/N Hugs to my prereader, paceisthetrick, for holding my hand and cheering me on. Check out her No Night Is Too Long stories: "Shells" ( www DOT fanfiction DOT net/s/8094594/1/ ) and "The Sum of Us" ( www DOT fanfiction DOT net/s/8143486/1/ ) . You won't be disappointed.**

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**Chapter 2 - The Pursuit of Bliss**

One of the happy side effects of getting pissed is entering that blissful dimension of dreamless sleep. However, that night Tim ripped through that delicate fabric of bliss like a violent wind. What I witnessed in that dream was horrible. A man whose face eluded me had tied him down to my bed, beat him bloody and was torturing him with a knife. He screamed and twisted his body in vain as I watched helplessly behind my locked bedroom door. In typical dream fashion, my door was made of thick glass which allowed me to observe everything that was happening to Tim. I yelled and pounded uselessly on it with my fists. The glass cracked into labyrinths of spiraling webs, but I could never break through. I woke up around 4 am, disoriented and drenched in sweat. My heart was thundering in my ears and my throat was hoarse from screaming. It was only after bolting upright and realizing that I had been dreaming that I heard the banging on my front door.

Stumbling through the darkened lounge trying to get to the door, I stubbed my toe against the foot of the chaise and let out a strangled yelp. I hobbled to the door and flung it open angrily. Standing in the dim light of the hallway, I was accosted by a pair of bulging black button eyes which belonged to my upstairs neighbor, Martin, his thin gray hair standing out from his head like a tarnished halo. His round pasty face was whiter than usual and lined with concern. Wrapped around his ample figure was an enormous white fleece robe. His plump feet were squished into a pair of tight black house slippers. This made me think of a picture I had once seen of an oversized baby seal. If I hadn't been so distraught at the time, I would have laughed out loud. To embellish this comical scene, his cat Matilda, cradled like an infant in his arms, squinted at me scornfully for having been disturbed and dragged out of bed.

"Are you alright, Ivo?" he fretted, stretching out his thick neck to look behind me. "You've been screaming and I began to worry that you were being murdered or something."

"I'm sorry," I muttered, hoarsely, "It was just a bad dream. Please. Just go back to bed."

He arched an eyebrow at me in disbelief, but finally nodded in acceptance. Turning towards the staircase, he toddled away, stroking his cat and mumbling to himself. I closed the door and sighed heavily.

How I wished it had all been a dream. I wished I had never met Tim. I knew I was not going to forget him now. Unable to return to bed for fear of going back to the same dream, I limped to the shower. Maybe I could wash away the images still burned in my brain.

The day dragged endlessly. As long as I was preoccupied with giving lectures or reviewing papers, I was fine. But any lull in my activities and the memories of Tim drifted in and haunted me. By the end of the day, I had decided to find him. I had to know that he was alright.

I wish I had known how difficult this task was going to be. Perhaps I would have changed my mind. Instead, the more time I spent looking for him, the more obsessed I became. Each evening, I walked around the campus and neighborhood searching. An entire week passed this way. He seemed to have vanished, which only made me more anxious for his safety.

My nights were filled with dreams about him. Each dream was as violent as the first. I finally broke down and talked to Martin about it. He was puzzled as to the reason for my obsession with this one person, a rent boy, no less, who I'd only met once. I couldn't explain it. On the surface, it made no sense. He strongly suggested that I see a therapist.

I took to drinking heavily every night, hoping to achieve a dreamless slumber and it worked every now and then. However, I knew this was no solution.

I thought of going to the police and reporting him as a missing person. I had his name, after all. But in the end, I realized that it would only cause him problems. They might even arrest him.

Months passed by. The Christmas break had begun and I changed my plans to holiday on a warm, sunny beach in Spain so that I could spend more time wandering the streets in search of Tim. I was pathetically obsessed and knew that I had to find a way to get him out of my system.

I was surprised when I spotted him a few nights later. He stood near a street corner leaning lazily against a wall puffing on a cigarette. Amusingly, it was only a few feet from the pub where we'd met.

"Tim!" I called out. He turned to watch as I jogged over to him.

I had been too drunk when I first met him to have noticed the glassy, dilated eyes. All I had seen was a brilliant shade of green. How had I missed the dark shadows under them too? A raven lock of hair slipped down over one eye as he tilted his head and offered up his sexiest smile. He was obviously high on something. Was he a drug addict? Warnings like sirens went off in my head but I ignored them.

"Hiya… umm… I remember you. Ivo, right?" he asked pointing at my chest with his forefinger. He seemed thinner than I remembered.

"That's right. I've been looking everywhere for you," I admitted with a sigh of relief.

His eyes seemed to twinkle as he smiled and took my hand. "Yeah? Well, I've been looking for you too." He dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot. Then he pulled on my hand gently to encourage me to walk with him. "Let's go back here to talk."

He led me into the familiar alleyway behind the pub and I followed blindly. I suppose I was mesmerized by his presence, by the soft, warm feel of his hand, by the fact that I'd finally found him and he was alright. About half-way down, he stopped. He wrapped his arms around me and began brushing his lips gently along my jaw. Lost in the moment, I mindlessly crushed my lips to his and slipped my fingers under his shirt. Feeling the bones jutting out of his ribcage, however, brought me crashing down to my senses. I pulled my hands away quickly, but he misinterpreted the move as impatience.

Spinning around to face the brick wall, he quickly unzipped his jeans and had already pulled them down his narrow hips to his knees when I stopped him by placing my hands over his. I felt him shiver.

"Wait, Tim. When was the last time you ate?"

"Huh?" He turned his body around to face me. It was the first time I had seen him naked and my heart caught in my throat. He was slender and delicate, positively beautiful. Just the way I dreamed he'd be. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it.

"When was the last time you ate?" I repeated.

"What do you mean?" He was thoroughly confused.

"Food, Tim. When was the last time you ate food?"

"I ate some breakfast, I guess."

"What did you have?"

"Can't remember. Coffee, I think." He was still confused. "Look. Do you want to fuck me or not?"

"Coffee isn't food, Tim. It's a beverage. Why don't you come back to my flat. I'll cook you some dinner."

He seemed exasperated. I was wasting his time. "I don't want dinner. I need you to fuck me."

"We can talk about that, but that's not why I've been looking for you. I can explain over dinner."

Pouting angrily, he shook his head like a petulant child, "Talk? Talk about what? I'm not allowed to leave this area anyway." He was lying. I was sure of it.

"I don't live far," I said and temptingly added, "I'll even pay for the whole night."

That seemed to interest him, and his eyebrows lifted for a moment. Pulling his jeans back up slowly, he appeared hesitant, shifting his eyes and shuffling his feet nervously. I wondered if he didn't trust me. Images of the scars I had seen on his torso flitted through my mind and I wondered how many of them were put there by customers and how many by his pimp.

I remembered seeing the black Volvo earlier, its headlights glaring at me ominously. Thinking about it now, I realized that it was always parked in the same spot. The windows were heavily tinted, but I knew someone was behind the wheel. I could see the red tip of a lit cigarette glow every now and then.

"I have to talk to Stefan. It won't be cheap," he warned as he zipped up his jeans.

"Who's Stefan?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"My boss." His voice registered disappointment.

I shrugged. "Do it."

I followed him back to the road. Putting on a mask of bravado, he glanced at me before he strolled down to the Volvo. I could see him talking to the driver. After a short discussion, the door opened and a tall, dark, muscular man climbed out. He pushed Tim's shoulder with the heel of his hand before he marched towards me. An expressionless Tim followed closely behind.

I noticed that he was well-dressed for a pimp, not that I knew many pimps. He wore designer clothes and shoes. He was actually very attractive, in a psychotic sort of way. His thick, well-styled black hair was combed back from his large forehead and hung down to his collar. He had heavy black eyebrows framing large brown eyes and a dark unshaven jaw. A cigarette hung loosely from the corner of his mouth. Stopping about two feet from me, he appeared positively sinister as he appraised me up and down. A sneer formed on his lips. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he took a long drag before taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

"I don't let boys wandering too far. Not safe." His gravelly voice was laced with a thick Eastern European accent.

"I'm not going to hurt him," I assured. It seemed positively ludicrous that he was concerned about Tim's safety, but I could believe that he was worried about losing a good earner from his stable. Perhaps he thought I was a rival trying to steal one of his assets.

"Two hundred, cash. Now," he proposed with an evil grin. His teeth were stained yellow from the cigarettes.

I was momentarily stunned. It was considerably more than I had on me. "I'll have to go to the ATM. I don't have that much on me right now."

"I am here. You will find me," he said with an air of confidence and whirled around to walk back to his car. Tim gave me a withering look and then went back to the wall where I found him.

It took me an hour to finally get back. Tim was nowhere in sight, but the Volvo was in the same place. I walked up to the window and tapped on it. It came down with a whirring sound and a great cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out and into my face.

I took the money out of my pocket and showed it to him. He smiled for the first time. He started to reach for it, but I pulled it away.

"Where's Tim?" I asked.

"Well, you do not expect him to wait for you, yes? He is popular with clients. Jamie will take care of you."

With that, the back door opened and a short, curly-headed blond boy with blue eyes and fresh rosy cheeks climbed out. He looked like a cherub as he smiled expectantly at me and I realized that he couldn't have been more than 14 years old. I was understandably horrified.

"No! I want Tim. It's Tim or it's no deal." I put the money back into my pocket and glared at him.

"You will wait, then," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Come here in thirty minutes. Tim comes back then. Jamie, go to find some business." He rolled the window back up without another glance at me. Jamie gave me a dirty look before turning and walking down the street. I wondered if I was ruining Jamie's chance of making his quota tonight. Then I shuddered when I wondered how a boy like Jamie could ever survive to be fifteen.

I didn't know what to do with myself in the meantime. I didn't want to worry about all of these boys. I couldn't possibly save them all. I had to concentrate on saving Tim. He had to be my priority right now. I walked into the pub and ordered a beer while I waited nervously.

The barman, whose name I learned was Dominic, noticed that I was glancing at my watch every few minutes.

"Waiting for someone?" he asked.

I really didn't feel like talking, so I simply nodded.

"Listen, mate. I know it's none of my business, but I hope it's not one of those boys that hang about here…" My expression must have told him more than I wanted him to know. "Bad news, the lot of them. Rob you blind, they will. Stay away from them, if you know what's good for you."

Deep down, I knew he was right. One, there was a chance that Tim could steal from me and two, that it was none of his business. I didn't care. I needed to at least try to help Tim. I could only hope that he wouldn't take advantage of me and I wouldn't wake up with my flat empty of all my belongings.

I gulped down my beer and nodded curtly at Dominic. "Thanks for the tip, but I'll be fine." With those parting words, I walked out of the pub and back into the street. Only twenty minutes had passed, but I couldn't stand being scrutinized.

Standing outside the door, as though he'd been waiting for me the whole time was Tim. He was tired, a worn look around his eyes. His clothes were crumpled and his hair mussed, but he bestowed the most heavenly smile on me and my heart lifted immediately.

"You came back," he said with an amused expression on his face.

"Of course," I said.

"Where to, gov?" he asked brightly.

I took his hand and walked him the few blocks to my flat. As we walked in silence, I wondered how long he'd been living on the streets. He had an air of middle-class about him. When we entered the flat, he wandered about the place touching and picking up items in the room. I worried for a moment about some of the more fragile fossils he was inspecting, but he was very gentle with them. He stopped at the door to my bedroom and peered in.

"I was thinking about making eggs, tomatoes and sausages. How does that sound?" I asked him as I slipped my coat off and laid it over the back of the chaise.

"I like sausages," he answered with a chuckle.

"Yes. I guess I shouldn't be surprised at that."

Shaking my head and smiling, I flipped on the light in the kitchen and set about to work. I opened a bottle of champagne and poured out two glasses for us. While I rifled through the refrigerator for the other items, he sipped his champagne and watched my progress intently. Minutes later, as I was frying the sliced tomatoes, I felt him press his body against my back. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. "I'm getting hungry," he informed me. I wasn't sure if he was referring to the food or making another joke.

"Actually, I'm done. Sit down and I'll bring our plates."

As I expected, he was extremely hungry and devoured everything within minutes. I opened a second bottle of champagne. Conversation hovered over simple platitudes about the weather and such. It was well past midnight and we still hadn't broached the subject I wanted to talk about.

"Tim, can ask you something?" I began cautiously.

He looked up as he munched on a piece of buttered toast and nodded amiably. Bolstered by the lack of objection, I boldly continued.

"Are you… What I mean is… Do you like working for Stefan?"

He stared at me for a moment and then burst out laughing. Dropping the toast on his plate, he bent over, shoulders shaking with mirth. Wiping the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand, he whispered conspiratorially, "It's not a career. I need money. It's what I do in order to get it. No one likes to work for him."

"How long have you been working on the streets?"

"A year, I think. I started out on my own, but I found out that's not how it's done here. You have to have a sponsor."

"But he hurts you," I protested. "Isn't there something else that you can do?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

"Do you need money because of the drugs?" I apparently hit a nerve with that question because he sat up stiffly and regarded me with suspicion.

"Are you a cop?"

"No, of course not. I just wondered if that was the reason you needed money." I was on shaky ground and I knew it. "We don't have to talk about this if it makes you uncomfortable."

He stared at me for several minutes, trying to decide whether to let me in. Finally, I saw the wall come down and he confessed. "Work is stressful. I do a little coke to help me forget about what I'm doing. I try not to use too much, mainly because I don't want to get addicted. It's pretty expensive and I owe Stefan a lot of money." He looked rather defeated at admitting this bit of information and I felt guilty for pushing him. As a concession and to give himself some worth, he added, "I used to go to school."

"At Warwick?" I was astonished. "What happened?"

Another shrug and he looked away. Turning back to me he said, "My parents cut me off. I couldn't afford the tuition."

"Perhaps you could qualify for a grant," I suggested. "I teach there. I can put you in touch with someone in financial aid."

"Why do you care?"

Now it was my turn to look away. I couldn't reply because I didn't know the answer. The conversation had become too awkward. Sensing this he did the only thing he knew would salvage things. Standing up he walked around the table, pulled my chair back and straddled my lap. "No more talking," he demanded as he wrapped his arms around me and began kissing me.

I let him take control. It was late and I was tired. Tired of worrying, tired of searching for him and tired of trying to figure out why I cared about him so much.

I had never been with a rent boy before so I expected our lovemaking to be a rough affair, something more suitable against a wall in a dark alley. I was pleasantly surprised with the tenderness that Tim showed.

We began with a hot shower. We washed each other with care, skimming our fingers over every inch of our bodies. He seemed to crave tactile attention. Caresses and gentle touches were appreciated as much or more than the sexual act itself. He was needy and, being young, perpetually hard most of the night. His stamina was much greater than mine, but his eagerness was contagious and we made love three times that night.

Exhausted and satisfied, he seemed happy to cuddle with me in my bed. Afterwards, he fell asleep with his head on my chest and I desperately wished the night would never end. However, end it did and I eventually succumbed to a deep and dreamless sleep. When I woke in the late morning the following day, he was gone. On the pillow next to my head I found a scrap of paper with a short note.

_**I really liked talking to you, Ivo.**_

_**I hope you'll come to find me again.**_

_**Tim**_

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**Well? Love it? Hate it? Let me know. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. :)**


	3. A Field of Flowers

**Chapter 3 – A Field of Flowers**

Morning came bright and crisp, unusual for December. I couldn't resist opening the windows and doors to the flat. I had slept soundly the night before. It was amazing how sex could relax one so. The noise from the street and the clean, fresh air were invigorating. My earlier depression had finally lifted and I felt a sudden drive to get some work done.

For a few hours, I sat at my desk madly tapping out notes on my laptop for a future lecture and simultaneously planning a new chapter to the book I was writing on the formation of ancient glaciers. I was on fire! I was not about to let this energy go to waste. The cool breeze drifted in from the window ruffling the curtains and the steaming cup of tea at my elbow was emitting an enticing aroma. A half-dozen crushed fags filled the ashtray.

I reached for another cigarette, but to my dismay the pack was empty. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something fluttering. At the edge of my desk was Tim's note planted under one of my favorite fossils. I paused, tossing the empty pack into the dustbin by my desk. I pulled the note out gently and brought it to my nose. Disappointed not to find his scent lingering on the paper, I closed my eyes and allowed the memories of the evening we spent together envelop me like a warm blanket.

Sex. It was something that I hadn't really indulged in since Ewan left. His departure had drained my libido. I had been depressed for weeks and hadn't even masturbated. Although I detested comparisons, I had to admit that Tim was much more talented than Ewan in the field of sex. I should have guessed. After all, he was a professional. Waking up alone this morning had filled me with mixed emotions. On one hand, I was happy and relieved that I'd found him safe. Sex with Tim was better than any sex I'd ever experienced. On the other hand, being with him only underscored the depth of my loneliness. Life changed so much after Isabel and Ewan. His note only served to remind me that, although he enjoyed my company last night, I was just another punter to him.

I yawned and stretched, enjoying the slight stiffness in muscles I hadn't used in a while. As I did so, my eyes swept across the room settling on my wallet lying on the dresser. The excitement of finding Tim safe and sound made me forget that I was to have paid that wanker, Stefan, in advance. I was in such a haze, I didn't even remember until we were both lying naked in bed. Stroking the side of my neck with the tips of his fingers, he told me not to worry. He'd give it to Stefan in the morning.

I laid two hundred quid on the dresser. Like an idiot, I'd also left my wallet lying next to it. I suddenly recalled Dominic's words: _"Rob you blind, they will."_ From where I lay, could see that the stack of notes was gone. I flew out of bed and grabbed my wallet, tearing it open. The ten and twenty pound notes and my two credit cards were still there, untouched. I quickly surveyed all the rooms and breathed a sigh of relief when I found nothing amiss. Then a twinge of guilt settled on me for doubting him.

My mind returned to the present and I shook my head, smiling at my foolishness. With my right hand, I began rummaging through the desk drawers looking for another pack of cigarettes. I fingered Tim's note in my other hand. I really wanted to see him again. Perhaps tonight?

The sound of Martin's door slamming against the wall shook me out of my reverie. His heavy footfalls pounded on the stairs. He stopped midway and boomed out, "Ivo! Ivo! Blast it, man! Are you trying to kill me?" He paused for a moment. "Are you hearing me?"

I rolled my eyes and stifled a chuckle. Martin was perpetually cold. With that heavy layer of insulation, I would have thought he'd have the opposite problem. "Yes, Martin. What is it?"

"For gawd's sake, do you want to turn this building into a refrigerator? Shut the doors and windows or I will succumb to pneumonia and you will suffer your entire life with a burden of guilt."

"But it's such a nice day," I protested, feigning disappointment. He could be such a drama queen. "Fresh air is bracing. Just what we need around here."

"My dear man, fresh air belongs outdoors! You want fresh air? Go for a walk!" With that he stomped back up the stairs and slammed his door shut.

Damn that persnickety curmudgeon! He was my best friend and I usually put up with his theatrics, but why did he have to put a damper on my creativity today? I wanted to ignore him, but I knew he'd only be back to badger me again in a few minutes.

_**Right, then!**_ I stood up and tramped around the flat shutting the windows and doors. Maybe an energetic stroll would do me good. I stuffed my laptop into my messenger bag. Armed with my leather jacket, scarf and bag, I marched to the front door and out into the shimmering sunshine.

I actually meant to head in the direction of St. Nicholas Park, but my feet had other plans. Harried women, mothers or nannies, brushed past me on their way to the park, pushing prams filled with screaming infants. I offered a few of them sympathetic nods and smiles.

I never understood the mothering instinct. That was something Isabel could never quite explain to me. Our own mother was anything but motherly, abandoning us with Gran an early age. Izzy was motherly. She took over our care when Gran died. I decided that it was like a genetic disease, affecting only women and skipping generations. Men simply couldn't comprehend something so foreign to them. Surely someone had done a study of that. I would have to do some research on the internet… sometime, but not today.

It occurred to me that my protective behavior towards Tim was very similar to the protective behavior Izzy often showered on me. Was I being motherly? _**Nonsense!**_ I stomped along angrily, punishing the pavement for that impertinent thought. I was no mother hen. I was simply worried about a boy who was in danger. Anyone would feel that way.

I really needed to stop obsessing over this boy. Why was I so drawn to him? What made him so special? Mentally, his face flashed before me. Those high cheekbones, large green eyes, a smallish slightly upturned nose, and pouty red lips gave him a youthful, almost childish appearance. He had a smooth, slender, beautiful torso with small pink nipples. Once I had him on my bed, I forgot about the scars marking his chest and abdomen. My cock twitched in my trousers as I remembered running my hands down his body, kissing every one of those scars, nibbling on those nipples until they formed hard pebbles and tasting him. I shuddered remembering that salty, bitter flavor as he cried out my name.

He had a sweet, gentle temperament with a soft melodious voice. I believed he was an honest young man abandoned by his family who fell into hard times as a result. This man he worked for, Stefan… I felt my blood pressure rise and my hands curl into fists as I remembered the bastard. He was dangerous. Tim needed to get away from that life. He didn't belong on the street. He could become a drug addict, if he wasn't already. He could die. The thought of Tim dying made me gasp. I began to walk faster.

Within minutes, I found myself wandering along Myton Road where I'd first met Tim. The closer I got to the pub, the stronger my desire to see him became. By the time I arrived at the front door, my heart was racing. Taking a deep breath, I reached out to open it, but then stopped. I really didn't want to face Dominic if he was there. I doubted that Tim would be inside anyway.

I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves and took a long drag. Ribbons of smoke curled up out of my mouth and nose as I glanced around. The wind and clouds had driven away the sun's rays and a chill had settled in the air again, reminding me that we were still in the midst of winter. Nevertheless, I told myself that the street didn't seem so dodgy in the daylight, a complete metamorphosis from the night before.

I'm not sure what I'd expected. The Volvo was nowhere in sight. The boys and women that I'd seen prowling the street corners were probably asleep somewhere. They worked a night shift. No different than feral cats, they slept all day and hunted for prey after dark. Briefly, I wondered if Tim was with them. He would already be well rested, wouldn't he? Did he stay the entire night with me or did he wait until I was asleep to steal away?

Across the street a tattered yet brightly colored awning flapping in the breeze caught my eye. The sign in the window read Campo di Fiori Cafe. _**Field of Flowers indeed!**_ I chuckled at their pretense. Just then my stomach growled, reminding me that I'd missed my lunch. Glancing at my watch, I noticed that it was 3 pm. A little wine and some antipasto might be a good way to satisfy my hunger and pass the time. I could wait for him.

The inside of the small café was nicer than I expected. It was brightly painted, warm and cheerful. An enormous mural of a meadow covered in wild flowers decorated one wall. I asked for and was given a table by the window. The owner and waiter were affable and entertained me with anecdotes while I waited for my meal. After I finished eating, I requested a cup of espresso and opened my laptop. The café was not busy and the owner did not seem to mind so I decided to work. Time passed quickly and the next time I checked my watch it was 5:30.

Outside the sky had already darkened. A few of Tim's colleagues, or perhaps I should say competitors, began to congregate around nearby alleys and street corners. Some seemed to be on friendly terms with each other, chatting amicably, while others preferred to stand alone, frowning and chain-smoking. I couldn't see Tim anywhere.

All seemed alert, carefully watching for punters and examining each car that drove by. Occasionally, a car would crawl along slowly, coming to a stop in front of a group. The driver would roll down his window and call out to them. One or two would step to the kerb, lean into the window and speak to the driver for a moment. I imagined that they would agree on a fee because one of them would eventually get into the car and drive off.

"They are little flowers, no?" I looked up and saw the waiter standing next to me looking out the window too. He laughed. "We did not name the café for them."

"What do you mean?" I asked, embarrassed to have been caught staring at them.

He turned to me and shook his head. "They are young, very beautiful now, but they are… how you say… plucked. They grow no more. They will die soon."

My eyes went wide. I was horrified, but chuckled nervously. "I certainly hope not. Are they much trouble… loitering about?"

He gave me a toothy smile. "We call polizia if puttanos bothering our customers. When polizia come, they disappear."

The café was becoming more crowded. I could see the owner standing by, anxiously glimpsing my way out of the corner of his eye. He needed the table, but he was too polite to say anything. Sighing, I decided to give it up. I packed up my laptop, took one more sip of my cold coffee and pulled out my credit card. I left a generous tip for the waiter, thanked him and the owner and let them know that I would be delighted to visit their establishment again.

The air outside was frosty. A mist had descended on the area and was getting thicker by the minute. I hadn't brought a heavy coat, but I was determined to hang around anyway. I had to see Tim again. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I began walking along the pavement slowly; looking at the faces of the boys I passed. They seemed curious, staring back at me. A few approached, sensing fresh blood, but I shook my head. If they persisted, I gave them my best "Piss Off" expression and they backed away.

I'd already paced up and down the street twice when I caught a glimpse of the back of a dark-headed boy entering an alley with a tall, thin man in an orange jacket. I nearly called out his name, but I wasn't sure. Could it be Tim? I had to know. I hesitated, standing still for several minutes staring at the entrance to the alley.

Without warning, an invisible force moved me toward them. I crossed the street hurriedly. I felt out of control, as though my feet were being sucked along by an undertow. I reached the mouth of the alley and stopped, backing up against the wall, panting heavily. _**What the hell do you think you're doing?**_ I could hear noises coming from the alley, grunting and shuffling. Moans of pleasure from both of them made me cringe.

Then I heard Tim's voice. I had to get out of there, but my feet refused to move. I stood there for several minutes, fighting the urge to call out his name. There was a crushing pain in my chest, something I couldn't understand. I was jealous and angry and I was struggling for breath. It was confusing. _**Why do I feel this way? He's just working. This is what he does, Ivo. **_Abruptly, I felt myself move forward again. I couldn't stop.

The alley was dank, colder than I expected. No light seemed to penetrate the darkness, but after a minute my eyes became accustomed to the dark and I was able to see a few feet in front of me. I crept along carefully, trying to avoid tripping or making any sounds. However, I could not control my heavy breathing. The pair took no notice anyway. I could vaguely make out flashes of orange, but couldn't see anything else. Then I heard Tim cry out. This was not pleasure, but pain. Suddenly, the figure in the orange jacket ran past nearly knocking me over. I regained my footing and ran further into the alley. Tim was sitting up against the wall with his head buried in his hands. I heard him moaning.

Kneeling down in front of him, I resisted the urge to take him into my arms. "Are you okay? What happened?"

He lifted his head up and rubbed his jaw. Blood was trickling out of his nose. The front of his jumper was torn and stained with it. His jeans were open and partially pulled down. He stared at me, startled.

"Tim. Answer me. Are you okay? Do we need to get you to hospital?"

He shook his head. "I-I'm okay… Bastard tried to rob me. Wait! What are you doing here?"

I could feel my face flush and was grateful for the darkness. I hoped Tim wouldn't notice and deftly avoided answering him. "Here. Let me help you up. I want to make sure you're okay."

He allowed me to take his hand and I pulled him upright. Then I leaned down and yanked up his trousers. He pushed my hands away when I began to fumble with the zip.

"I'll do that."

"Yes. Yes, of course. Sorry." I suddenly wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I was way out of my element. "I should have gone after him or, perhaps I should call the cops."

He frowned and shrugged his shoulders with a false bravado. "Relax. I'm used to it. You know… hazards of the workplace and all that." He wiped the blood under his nose with the sleeve of his jumper and sniffed.

We walked slowly to the street. When we were on the pavement, he took hold of my elbow and turned to me. With a tilt of his head and a knowing smirk, he said, "You never answered me. What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see you again," I admitted, biting my lip and struggling to look him in the eye. "I didn't mean to interrupt… What I mean is… I wasn't stalking you or trying to peep." I felt like I was drowning in the absurdity of my excuses.

His laughter was soft and kind. "That's okay. He had a knife so I'm glad you interrupted."

The words chilled me to the bone. _**How can he laugh about it?**_ He brought his hand up and cupped the side of my face. Looking up, I was mesmerized by his brilliant green eyes.

"So… Just wanted to see me, huh?"

"Well… I was rather hoping you'd… comebacktotheflatwithme." I rattled off the last part so fast I had to gasp for air.

He grinned. "Are you trying to feed me again?"

"Um… We can get takeaway, I suppose. Do you like Chinese?" The thought of bringing him home again lifted my spirits and I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face.

He laughed. "I like **you**, Ivo. Chinese sounds good too, but I have to admit I'm partial to sausages."

We both laughed. "So you'll come?"

His laughter died, leaving a weak smile on his face. "You're serious, aren't you? I need to work tonight."

I gritted my teeth as I grabbed him by the shoulders. I felt my blood pressure rise as I unleashed the emotions I'd been holding in for so long. "Why? How much do you need to keep that bastard happy? I'll give it to you! Whatever he wants!"

Tim eyes were wide, shocked at my outburst. He was quiet for a minute, nervously staring behind me at the Volvo down the street. "I can't just stand here talking. I have to work, Ivo. You want to go into the alley?" He pulled away from my grasp.

"No! I want you to come home with me!"

"I'm sure it can be arranged. You've got 200 quid?"

I shook my head and answered bitterly, "No! I don't."

He let out a loud breath in exasperation and pushed me away with his hand. "Then you need to go. I've got to get back to work. Stop bothering me!"

Just then a car pulled up to the kerb. Tim practically ran to the door and jerked it open, much to the driver's surprise. I heard the driver ask him how much. I couldn't hear what Tim said, but he hopped into the car and it sped away, leaving me standing alone on the pavement. It took me several minutes to comprehend what I'd done. I'd scared him away. He must have thought I was mad, following him, spying on him, yelling at him.

As I walked back to my building, I struggled to keep my composure. A few tears broke free and trickled down my cheeks and my vision was blurry, but I succeeded in holding most of it back. I fumbled through my pockets for my keys. _**Damn!**_ I'd left them inside the flat.

Defeated, I rang the bell. It wasn't late, but it still took Martin a couple of minutes to answer the door. I suppose he was having his dinner. I was frantic to get inside.

He threw open the door with an exaggerated huff. Matilda was following slowly behind him, dragging her fat belly along the carpet. She glared at me accusingly. "Well, well. I suppose you've left your key again. What is it with you absent-minded professors? Haven't you come up with a way to remember things? Perhaps a string on your finger? Or maybe I need to tie the key to a string and put it round your neck?"

He stopped short of his chastising rants and stared at me through his rimless spectacles. I must have looked a sight because his entire demeanor changed. "What's happened, Ivo? Are you ill?" He placed his hand on my shoulder.

That was all it took. I broke down in front of him, threw my arms around his enormous shoulders and buried my face into the crook of his neck sobbing miserably. Martin was usually not the cuddly type, but he took it in stride and helped me into the hallway shutting the door behind us.

He helped me climb the staircase where he took me to his lounge, sat me down in his own comfortable chair and poured me a large brandy. A few sips of the fiery liquid and the warmth from the fireplace calmed me, but I found myself staring at the carpet. I couldn't look him in the eyes. _**He must think I'm mad too.**_

"Now, what's all this about?" he asked. He'd perched himself on sofa across from me. Matilda had joined him, forcing her way onto his lap. Absentmindedly, he stroked her long, thick coat and she purred contentedly. _**How nice it must be to be Martin's cat.**_

With a few halting breaths, I began to tell him the story. He was already aware of some of it and clicked his tongue in disapproval at the right moments. When I admitted following Tim and the punter into the alley, he gasped but said nothing.

"Ivo, you need to see someone," he said gently when I'd finished. "You sound as if you're in love. This is an obsession. This boy… this Tim… He doesn't want your help. He chose this lifestyle. It's what he wants."

"You're wrong," I said angrily, neglecting his remark about love. "It is ignorance and bigotry that force him to live like that. He could die, Martin! He was attacked tonight. How often do you think that happens to him? You didn't see the scars on his body…"

"Ivo, you're not making sense. If you're saying that society forces all gay men to behave that way then both us would be out there with him. He chose this." He stood up and walked to his desk. I saw him rummage through his top drawer and pull out a couple of cards. He walked back and handed me the cards.

One card had the name of a therapist, Dr. Maryanne Evans, and the other the name of a police detective, DCI Abigail Browne. I gritted my teeth as I turned the cards over in my fingers. I wanted to throw them into the fire.

"I'm telling you this because you are my friend, Ivo. I care about you. Both of those women are good friends of mine. It's up to you. Call the police and let them handle this rent-boy problem or call a therapist and talk to her about your obsession."

"How is that going to help Tim?" I seethed.

Martin sighed. "I'm trying to help **you**, Ivo."

I stood up. My knees felt wobbly. "Thanks for the drink Martin. I'm going now. I'll think about what you said." That last part I knew was a lie. He'd been no help at all.

We said our goodbyes and I stumbled down the stairs to my flat. I poured myself a large whiskey and proceeded to drink myself into oblivion.

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**So what do you think? Let me know with a short review. :)**


	4. Revelations

**A/N Thanks to everyone who has placed this story on alert or favorite. You guys rock! I originally planned something different for this chapter, but the boys guided the story on another course. We'll get back to what I wanted next chapter.**

**WARNING: Please, please, please do not read this if you are under 18 or offended by the sexual images it invokes.**

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**Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.**  
**Emily Brontë**

**Chapter 4 - Revelations**

Warm. The room was too warm. I couldn't breathe. The obvious thing to do was open a window, but I couldn't move. It was as if something heavy was pressing on my chest. Of course, it didn't help that I was slouched in my armchair facing the blazing hearth. The glass of whiskey in my hand provided additional fire to my throat as I swallowed the numbing elixir. The clock on the mantel told me that it was 3 o'clock. Had I fallen asleep? I couldn't believe that I'd been sitting and drinking all this time. The near empty bottle and overflowing ashtray on the side table disagreed. A tiny mound of cigarette ash and a burn mark on the carpet next to my chair also told me that I'd dropped my cigarette at some point. Luckily, I hadn't burned down the flat.

Other than the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, the house was silent. Martin was probably snoring peacefully upstairs; Matilda curled up like a Russian ushanka on top of his head. It was times like this that I envied his monkish existence. It had been years since he'd suffered the agony of love. He now had Matilda to comfort him in his loneliness. I had friends, but they were away on holiday. No matter. They could never understand. Only Isabel knew me and understood me. How I wished I could hear her voice again. I missed her so much.

Gasping and struggling to my feet, I stood and made my way to the window. It took me a minute to decide where it was. There seemed to be two where I knew there was only one. I groped at the curtains until I was sure I found it. Pulling open the sash caused the cold, damp night air to rush in. Immediately, its sobering, cool fingers embraced my face entering the pores like osmosis. I felt my lungs expand and for a short moment there was blessed relief from my somber thoughts.

The thick heavy clouds hanging ominously above had finally burst open during the night, drenching Warwick with freezing rain. Outside, the light from my window reflected brightly on the wet pavement. How appropriate, I thought as I peered out into the blackness. Rain is misery's perfect partner. A flash of lightning and crack of thunder seemed to concur with that observation.

Stumbling back to my armchair, I poured the last of the whiskey into my glass and watched the golden fluid slosh side-to-side. Sure, I was seeing two glasses instead of one, but I still wasn't there. I wasn't pissed enough to forget what I'd done. Throwing back my head, I downed the drink in one gulp. I lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

When I first heard the doorbell, I thought I was beginning to hear things. As I sat silently waiting, it rang again. Was it Martin's or mine? Who would be calling at such an hour? Certainly no one would be calling on Martin. They wouldn't dare. The privilege of that audacity belonged only to me.

Leaving the cigarette between my lips, I used both hands to push myself to a standing position. The floor was being quite uncooperative, tilting side to side like a carnival ride. Using the wall as a guide, I staggered out of my flat, down the hall and threw open the front door. There was a moment of utter silence as I stared at the person standing in front of me.

"Tim?" I questioned, wondering if I was dreaming.

"I've had a bloody awful time worrying about you," he mourned as he leaned against the wall. As usual, he was not wearing a coat and he had his arms tightly wrapped around his torso in an attempt to stay warm. The thin black hoodie over his jumper was not much defense against the elements.

"Come 'ere," I demanded. I sucked in one last breath from my cigarette and flicked it out into the darkness. Grasping his wet hoodie I pulled him to me, pressing my lips against his. He moved closer, encircling his cold, wet fingers around my neck and parting his lips, allowing my tongue to tangle with his. I felt as though I was drowning in his unique flavor, one that I'd missed so much. No. This was no dream. It was heaven.

Breaking the kiss to take a breath, I stepped back and noticed his eyes were closed. Long black lashes fanned over his rosy cheekbones. Slowly he opened those glorious green orbs and smiled as he stepped over the threshold. His shoes squished as he walked. Shivering, he stood quietly waiting for me to speak. I was still too stunned to say anything. He was dripping wet and I became aware of the small puddle accumulating at his feet.

"Umm… Better take off those shoes and leave them here to dry. I glanced up the staircase expecting to see Martin's scowling face. "My landlord is rather particular about his floors."

Tim's eyes followed mine up the staircase as he toed off his worn looking trainers. He had no socks on and his toes literally looked blue. His nose and cheeks were bright red.

"You're freezing. Let's get you to the fireplace where you can warm up," I suggested as I closed the door. I swayed a little and stumbled as I began to lead the way. A thin yet strong arm suddenly shot out and wrapped itself around my waist.

"Had a few tonight?" he asked holding me steady.

I chuckled and nodded, as he guided me back to the flat. He placed me in my armchair and then turned away, splaying out his hands toward the heat from the fireplace.

I watched for a minute before I realized that I could help him further.

"Take off those wet clothes and get into the shower. It will warm you faster," I ordered, standing up again. I swayed a little, but pushed his hand away as he attempted to steady me. "I'll bring you some of my clothes to wear."

I didn't wait for his answer, but walked purposefully to my bedroom and began rummaging through my drawers looking for lounge pants and a tee shirt that would fit him. The need to help him was sobering me up. As I searched, I heard the shower start in the bathroom. I finished gathering the clothes and walked down the hallway to the bathroom. The door was wide open and I could see Tim standing in the walk-in shower stall smiling at me. His wet clothes were piled in middle of the floor.

"I brought you these." I said, laying the clothes on the counter. "The towels on the towel rack are clean. Take your time and make sure that you're warm before getting out." I picked up his wet things intending to wash and dry them for him. I turned and started to walk out.

"Ivo…," he called.

I turned back around. "Yeah?"

"There's a naked man in your shower," he warned as he drenched his hair under the steaming spray.

"What of it?" I asked.

"Well, you know what that means don't you?"

I raised an eyebrow and waited for more.

"You have to join him in order to conserve water," he continued in a serious voice. "It's the law, the law of England. Nothing to do with me." He held his hand up with its palm facing me.

"Is that so?" I laughed. "What are you? A cop?"

"I am simply a law-abiding citizen. You'd best hurry in here," he added for good measure. "I think I hear a siren."

"Law abiding?" Grinning, I shook my head. How could I resist him? I removed my clothes and entered the shower.

Immediately, he wrapped himself around me. His skin was still cold, but I endured the unpleasant sensation. He needed to warm up quickly. His lips devoured mine and he pressed his groin against mine, grinding his hips erotically.

He wanted more. He tried, but I resisted his advances and concentrated on soaping him up and rinsing him off.

"Come on," he urged. "I know you want me."

I ignored his pleas and began washing my hair. His hand swept up and down my chest finally resting on my erection.

"You won't have to pay," he tempted. "This one's for free."

"Tim," I said. "Stop."

Immediately, his face hardened and he turned his back to me in anger. "Fine!"

I enveloped him in my arms, pressing the length of my body against his back. Resting my chin on his shoulder, I whispered, "I want to teach you something tonight." I sucked on his damp earlobe. He shivered minutely, but managed to maintain a cool demeanor.

"Ahh… The quintessential professor," he said sarcastically. "What can you teach me? There's nothing you can teach me about sex. I've done almost everything. Well, except animals." He shuddered at the thought. "I even fucked a woman once." He didn't blurt out these statements in boasting, but rather in a matter-of-fact way, as though it was common knowledge. The last sentence surprised me, but remembering what it was like for me at that age I realized that he could probably get hard just thinking about clotted cream.

I turned him around and placed my forehead against his, closing my eyes. "Tim, I want to teach you the difference between fucking and making love."

He stared at me for a moment with an expression of disbelief then chuckled quietly as he ran the tips of his fingers down my bare chest. "There isn't any difference really. The bottom line is you stick your cock in my arse. No pun intended."

Smiling and shaking my head, I turned off the water and handed him a towel. "You'll see. Dry off and meet me in the lounge. I need to fetch something from the bedroom."

Quirking an eyebrow and grinning, he took the towel and threw it over his bare shoulder. "And what would you be fetching from the bedroom, Dr. Steadman?" he asked cheekily. "Oh. In case you're wondering, I really fancy toys." I stifled a laugh when I noticed that he was swaying his hips seductively as he walked away.

Upon entering the lounge, I saw him lying on the chaise with the towel spread out under him and one leg draped over its back. He was lazily stroking his cock as he gazed at me with lust-filled eyes. Like a worshipper in front of an idol, I rushed forward and fell to my knees dropping the small plastic bottle and condom in my hand on the floor next to me. His skin was still wet and shiny. He never bothered to dry off and goose pimples covered his arms. I couldn't decide if they were from the cold or they were from anticipation.

I reverently picked up his hand and placed numerous little kisses on it. I moved up to his forearm, the inside of his elbow, his biceps sucking the drops of water my lips encountered on the way. He tasted of raspberry scented soap. As I reached the top of his shoulder, I heard him sigh. When our faces were mere inches away, he wrapped his hands around the back of my neck and pulled me closer. He expected me to kiss him, but I resisted. Instead I ran my thumb over those soft plump lips slowly. He took advantage and sucked my thumb into his mouth, rubbing and stroking it with his tongue. The sensation was sublime and when I pulled it away, it made a popping sound. I gasped.

It was as if we were competing against each other, each trying to best the other with stratagems of seduction. He was winning, of course, but I still had a couple of surprises in store for him. By now my cock was so hard it was aching and leaking. I felt a drop of pre-cum land on my thigh.

We hadn't spoken since I'd entered the room, but it wasn't necessary. Our actions spoke volumes. How I wanted him. His half-lidded eyes were focused on my face with a fierce intensity as I began kissing my way down his torso. My hand followed my lips, mapping every muscle and rib. As I nibbled on one nipple, I tweaked the other between my forefinger and thumb. When my lips reached the small tattoo on the inside of his pelvis, he shamelessly spread his legs apart and began thrusting his hips impatiently. His cock bobbed up and down in a futile effort to find some kind of friction.

He didn't have to wait long. I ran my tongue along his length until I reached his balls. Slurping one into my mouth, I lavished it greedily, rolling it around with my tongue. I released it and sucked in the other, giving it the same attention as its twin.

I grazed my teeth lightly back up his length and then pulled him in as far as I could. He was not large and it was easy to take in his entire length. When I felt his cock tap the back of my throat, I swallowed. I could feel his balls tightening up. _**Not yet.**_ He cried out my name in frustration when I released him.

I sat back on my heels and picked up the small bottle of lubricant that I'd dropped earlier. He watched as I poured a generous amount on my hands and rubbed them together. I wrapped one hand around the base of his hard shaft and sucked the head into my mouth savoring the bitter and salty fluid that had accumulated there. I dipped my tongue into the slit and he groaned appreciatively, widening the space between his legs further. As I sucked greedily and ran my tongue up and down his penis, my middle finger circled his entrance slowly. I could hear him moan and he began to press down, shamelessly trying to force my finger in. When I finally breached his opening, he panted out, "Oh yes… yes!"

I moved my finger in and out in rhythm with my movements on his cock. After a few minutes, I felt his muscle relax and I knew he was ready for another finger. I surprised him by pulling my mouth and hands away. His eyes, which had previously been closed, opened up widely. He looked baffled, but I quickly put his mind to rest. I took his hand and poured a little lubricant over the fingers. Holding his hand in my own, I brought them down to his hole and pushed both of our middle fingers in at the same time. I maintained control, pumping our fingers in and out, languidly at first, building up to quicker movements. Occasionally, we brushed against his prostate and he'd bite his lower lip and moan.

"Ivo," he whimpered, "I think I'm going to come." He pulled his finger away and grasped my hair with both hands, pressing me closer to his crotch.

I couldn't help but smile as I kissed the tip of his penis. "Then come, love," I bid as I wrapped my lips around the head. Within seconds I felt his abdominal muscles tighten and he began thrusting into my mouth erratically before letting out a short cry. Spurts of his warm creamy essence filled my mouth and I swallowed it greedily. He was completely relaxed now, eyes closed, arms and legs limp.

Quickly I prepared myself, sheathing my cock with the condom and slathering it with lubricant. Then I realized that this is not where I wanted him.

He was so thin. It took very little effort to pick him up in my arms and carry him down the hall to my bed. As I placed his head on the pillow, he opened his eyes and smiled lazily. I slid my body over him and reveled over the exquisite friction on my cock.

I wasted little time, lifting his legs over my shoulders and pressing two fingers into his entrance. His muscles were still relaxed and ready for me. Staring into the depths of his beautiful eyes I stilled, waiting for reassurance from him. His cheeks were flushed and he was gazing at me dreamily.

"What are you waiting for?" he chuckled. "Need an invitation?"

Not breaking eye contact, I pushed into him forcefully, feeling the heat and tightness squeezing my throbbing cock. His eyes rolled back as I kept my hips still waiting for his body relax again. Joined to him this way made me feel something I'd never felt before, not even with Ewan. It wasn't the physically sensation. It was something else. I felt whole, as though a piece of my soul I never knew was missing had been put in its right place. This is where I belonged.

I remembered Martin's words. _"You sound as if you're in love."_ _**He's right.**_

Overcome with emotion, a tear rolled out of the corner of my eye. Taking a deep breath, I began rocking my hips slowly. _**I'm never going to let you go.**_ His eyes opened and I thought for a moment that I'd said the words aloud. He reached up and cupped my cheek with his hand.

"Ivo, please," he moaned softly.

"What? Whatever you need," I gasped, pumping harder, pushing in deeper. I leaned down and ravished his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, he begged, "Fuck. Hold me close."

I let his legs slide down my arms, but I kept him open as I pressed my chest against his. He was erect again and the pressure from my abdomen elicited a low moan from him.

I could feel a slow burn begin low in my groin and I increased the pace of my thrusts. Panting, groaning, curses and the sound of skin slapping against skin resounded in the room. I tried hard to keep my eyes on his face, but in the end, I clenched my eyes as the world exploded behind them. Clutching him close, I felt his orgasm as his warm cum spilled between us. His muscles tightened around my cock, prolonging my ecstasy.

With my eyes shut tight, I imagined us floating above the bed, higher and higher and then slowly, slowly drifting back down. We lay quietly for several minutes not wanting this moment in time to end. My heart felt full, ready to burst. Finally, I propped myself up on my elbows and looked down at the angel beneath me. His eyes were half-opened and his lips were parted. The need to tell him how I felt was overwhelming, but something held me back. _**Too soon.**_

I withdrew and rolled off of him, still panting. I pulled off the condom and dropped it in the bin by the bed. We lay on our backs staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before I felt his hand cover mine. He entwined our fingers and squeezed gently. I turned my head and saw him looking at me. He had an expression on his face that I hadn't seen before.

"That was…" he started. His face flushed a brighter shade of red.

I turned my body to face him. "What?"

"…amazing," he finished. He turned his body towards me. Picking up our hands, he kissed mine.

"So now you know the difference." I pulled one hand away and placed it on the side of his neck, stroking his jaw with my thumb.

"I should go," he said, smiling sadly, "but I don't know if I can sit up yet."

"We're both knackered," I admitted. "You don't have to leave. Let's just go to sleep."

"Are you sure?" He spoke so softly, I barely heard him.

"Tim," I said. "I want you to stay." I kissed him chastely on the lips. He looked so sad. Without saying another word, he turned his back on me and curled up. I moved closer to him and kissed his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and buried his face into the pillow. I could barely hear his mumbled words.

"Why are you being so nice to me? Why aren't you kicking me out?"

I was so confused. What did I do? Everything was fine until I told him he could stay. I sat up and when I did I felt the discomfort of cold, drying cum on my stomach. Grabbing some tissues from the bedside table I wiped it off. I tried to turn him around, but he resisted, curling himself tighter.

"Let me just clean you up," I said. He relaxed and turned over. As I wiped off his stomach, I gazed into his face. His eyes were filled with tears. "Talk to me, Tim."

"I've never liked sleeping alone," he confessed turning his head away in shame. He wiped his tears away with the palm of his hand. "I'm sorry I lost it. I usually end up alone when it's time to go to sleep. I don't sleep very well."

"That's no reason to be upset. I don't like to sleep alone either. Anyway, I have a feeling we'll both sleep like the dead tonight." I said gently, try to comfort him. This night was not just playing havoc with my emotions.

He twisted the edge of the sheet between his fingers. Turning his face back to me, he started to explain.

"I grew up in a small town on the coast of Suffolk. The house I lived in faced the sea and the breeze was always strong. It was a big house, very old, and the wind made a lot of strange noises, especially at night. I was always so afraid. My mum and dad made me sleep in my own room which was on a separate floor from theirs. When I was about four or five years old, I figured out a way to sleep near them. I started crawling to my parents' room once I thought they were sleeping and would lie down on the floor next to their bed." He laughed bitterly. "One night, dad got up to use the loo and tripped over me. He yelled at me, smacked me on the arse and tossed me back into my own bed. The next night I found that they'd locked their door. So I brought my pillow and blanket and lay down in front of their door. I couldn't sleep though because I worried dad would come out of the room and smack me again. Every night I would doze for a few hours in front of their door and then wake up and go back to my own room before they woke. I did that until I was six. That was the year they shipped me off to my Aunt Clarissa in Ipswich. I hated it there, but at least I could sleep. I had to share a bed with my cousin. He hated me."

He lay quietly, picking the threads on the hem of the sheet.

"I'm sure your parents loved you, didn't they?" I asked.

He laughed again. "I suppose, in their own way they did. They were besotted with one another, you see. I always felt like a guest that overstayed his welcome. I think I was the unwanted child that fate burdened them with. They felt obligated to love me. I don't ever remember my dad picking me up and hugging me. My mum did, for a while anyway.

"When I was small, I thought that this was the way things were in most families. I thought Aunt Clarissa's family was the exception. Then I was sent away to Leythe, a public school on the other side of Suffolk. It was there that I learned that most children are treasured by their parents. I was so jealous of those boys who went home during holidays. It was usually arranged that I stay on during short holidays. During Christmas and Easter breaks, when the school closed, I went to Aunt Clarissa. I made friends at Leythe. I guess they cared about me for a while. I rarely saw my parents. Christmas and birthday presents were mailed to me from them. I always wondered if it wasn't Aunt Clarissa who sent them.

"They paid the fees for school up until a year ago. That's when one of their friends saw me at school snogging another boy. Dad called me straight away and asked me if I was a 'bloody poofter'. I told him the truth and he told me I was on my own. They didn't want anything more to do with me. I never spoke to Mum or Aunt Clarissa again."

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't expected him to unveil his deep secrets this way. It had to have been painful growing up the way he did. I thought of my own childhood. I always thought we'd had it rough. Mum abandoned us, but I had Isabel and Gran. We never doubted that Gran loved us very much.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just very tired. I didn't mean to force my bleeding, miserable life story on you."

I pulled him close and kissed his forehead. "I'm glad you told me. Someday I'll tell you mine and you'll have to lie there and take it. Payback's a bitch, right?"

That made him smile. He turned over and I wrapped my arms around him pulling his back against my chest, spooning him closely. I buried my nose into the hair on the nape of his neck and that's how we fell asleep. My last thought was: _**Please don't let him run away from me again.**_


	5. Shelter

**Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing,"****said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."**

**~A.A. Milne**

**Chapter 5 – Shelter**

The late afternoon sunlight shimmered on the ripples of water beneath us. For hours we'd recklessly reveled in our happiness, laughing as we reminisced about our youthful antics, sipping great quantities of red wine and watching other sailboats glide across the horizon. Summer was nearly over and, although the sun was dazzling and warm, the air was cool and refreshing.

Sitting on the deck of the boat with our bare legs dangling off the edge, we listened as the water lazily lapped against the sides of the boat. She was wearing an ice blue sundress that matched the color of her eyes. I loved to see her in that dress. Wisps of blond hair, tinted pink by the fading sun, danced on the breeze over her tan shoulders. She was always the beautiful one. Everyone said so. What they didn't notice was that she was also brighter. Brighter and more beautiful, that was my Isabel. I wasn't jealous at all. I was proud of her.

Overwhelmed with affection I reached for her hand, but she quickly pulled it away. A sensation of dread trickled down my spine like ice water. It was time for her to leave.

_**Why?**_ A sharp dagger twisted in my heart. Turning towards me, her face reflected my grief, registering my pain as if it were her own.

She managed to muster a weak smile as she tried her best to console me. "Sadness doesn't suit you, Ivo. Try to be happy… for me."

"I can't be happy without you!" Hot tears seared the corners my eyes. "Why did you have to marry him? Why did you have to leave me?"

"Yes you can, my love. I've never left you and I never will. I'll always be here." She gently placed a pale forefinger over my heart.

I tried to reach for her hand again, but it vaporized. Looking up, I panicked when I realized that she was gone. _**Isabel!**_

My eyes flew open as my heart pounded against my ribcage. It was a dream, its memory fading as soon as I realized where I was and who was with me.

We'd moved around during the night and Tim's head was resting on my chest, an arm and leg draped over me like a heavy blanket. I could feel his morning erection pressed against me. His touch was a comfort. Warmth flooded my face. It wasn't because I was embarrassed at waking up intimately entwined with someone I barely knew, but rather I was flattered that he seemed incredibly comfortable. He was so beautiful and so young. I had actually expected him to have slipped away like the last time, but happily I was wrong. Kissing the top of his head lightly, I immersed myself in his delicious scent.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," he mumbled softly. His warm, moist lips brushed against my skin as he spoke causing goose bumps along my torso. He lazily grazed the pad of his thumb over my nipple back and forth for a few seconds before hoisting himself up on top of me and tightening his hold.

"You're awake," I said surprised, placing my arms around him.

"I didn't want to startle you," he explained lifting his head to look at me. "I've been awake for a while now." He hesitated before adding, "You were crying."

I reached up and touched my cheek. It was wet. The memory of the dream came crashing back and I had to bite my lip to keep from shedding any more tears.

"You had a bad dream," he added softly. He lifted one hand and wiped away the wetness from my face.

"A sad dream," I corrected. I couldn't elaborate anymore. I hurt too much to think about it. I turned my eyes up to the ceiling to avoid his.

In an effort to change the subject, he snuggled back into my chest and said, "It feels nice having you for a pillow. You're a bit like my old teddy, just harder and bigger." He kissed my chest and then rested his chin on my sternum. "Nearly as cute too."

I couldn't help but chuckle as I looked back at him and threaded my fingers through his silky hair. "What do you mean 'nearly'? I'm certainly not as furry."

"There! I made you laugh," he said, smiling.

"So tell me more about my competition. Did your teddy have a name?"

"Beary. I was very attached to him," he answered wistfully.

I raised my eyebrows and smirked. "I hate him already."

"He was a gift from my aunt after I moved in with them. I was a bit of a crybaby back then and she felt sorry for me." He suddenly looked embarrassed, as though he'd accidently told me more than he wanted to. Despite the flush in his cheeks, his bright green eyes appraised me and he smiled. "I wonder what ever happened to Beary."

"You don't know?"

"Never saw him again after I went away to school. I wasn't allowed to take him. Clarissa said that I was too old for toys. She was right, I suppose. It wouldn't do to have a teddy at Leythe. You could get beat up for that. I suppose she eventually threw him out along with my other things." He pushed himself up to a kneeling position. Something in his expression told me that we were moving into unwanted memories. _**What a miserable childhood.**_

Light filtering in through a narrow gap in the curtains played along the soft hair on his thin arm reminding me that I needed to get up.

"I have a meeting at the school today," I lamented. If I had my way, I would want to lie in bed all day with him. "What time is it anyway?"

He turned his head towards the bedside table where my alarm clock sat.

"Just after nine," he answered.

"Bloody hell! I forgot to set my alarm. I'm going to be late!" I attempted to sit up, but he pushed me down pressing his hands on my shoulders. His eyes twinkled with mirth.

"If you're already going to be late, why hurry?" He slipped his hand down slowly, cupping my balls gently. "First things first, yeah?" The colour of his eyes seemed to have deepened with a hunger I understood.

"Tim…," I started as he began stroking me. I couldn't finish my objection because he'd covered my mouth with his soft plump lips. His tongue forced its way in and I relented, allowing him to ravish every inch of my mouth.

As his mouth confidently travelled down my body sucking and nibbling along the way, I realized that he'd already mapped out every one of my erogenous zones. It was obvious, he had every intention of giving each spot his undivided attention. Needless to say, I felt helpless under the power of his seduction. Neck, nipples, navel, pelvic bone and… _**oh yes!**_

He hummed in pleasure, sending shivers up my spine. Releasing me he slowly worked his way back up to my lips. He grasped my hands in his and brought them up over my head. Holding them tightly, he began bucking his hips slowly. Our erections already coated with pre-cum and saliva, were sliding deliciously between our stomachs. My hips began thrusting up to meet his.

I closed my eyes as his lips and teeth continued to assault me. Nibbling along my scruffy jaw line to my earlobe he paused, sucking the soft appendage into his hot mouth and rolling it around.

"Ivo…," he whispered.

Kissing my eyelids tenderly, he returned to my mouth and forced his tongue back in. Behind my closed eyes, colored sparks erupted in darkness. I opened them and with determination took back control. My tongue fought his for dominance and he relented, allowing it to enter his mouth, where it danced slowly with his.

He was an amazing man. The sensations he elicited were completely new territory to my body. Never had I felt this way with any person. I could feel a low burn begin in my balls and I tried to stop him.

"Christ, Tim, you're going to make me come."

"That's the idea," he gasped as his hips increased their speed. Faster and faster we moved in synchronized rhythm until, at last, I felt the warmth of his cum spill between us. He cried out my name and that did it for me.

I ripped my hands away from his and wrapped them tightly around his slender frame as my entire body shuddered with ecstasy and the first spurt of semen issued from me. It felt as if we were flying, joined together in unbelievable pleasure

For several minutes we lay in each other's arms, our heads sharing the same pillow. I suspected that he had fallen asleep, but I was wrong. He pulled away and we both looked down at our torsos, covered with cold, sticky cum.

"Shower?" we both queried simultaneously. That caused us to break into laughter.

"I think so," I said when we quieted down. "But no fooling around. I have to get ready to go in to work."

"I don't know, Ivo. You look a little peaky to me," he whispered into my ear. "You should call in sick." He reached for the night table and handed me my mobile. I stared at him in astonishment. Skipping work was not something I ever did. I was normally conscientious, reliable. _**I am in so much trouble.**_

He smirked before hopping out of the bed.

"I'll get the shower started." He toddled off, looking quite smug.

Sighing, I scrolled down the list of contacts for Andrew Carson's number. Andrew, head of the department of Life Sciences at Warwick, was keen on punctuality and I dreaded having to let him know I was not going in. The phone rang several times before he finally picked up. His voice was low and scratchy. I even thought for a moment that I'd called the wrong number.

"Oh Ivo. I was about to call you." He paused and coughed a few time. "I'm afraid I have to cancel our meeting today. I think I've come down with the flu and will most likely be out this week. I'm sorry, but I feel absolutely miserable. Call me at the end of the week and we'll try to reschedule."

I lied and told him that I also was not feeling well. After commiserating with him for a few moments and wishing him a speedy recovery, I hung up. Shaking my head, I set the phone down. I couldn't believe my luck.

When I walked into the bathroom, Tim was already under the spray with his back to me. He had just washed his hair and was in the process of rinsing the shampoo out. His eyes were closed as streams of white foam trickled down his back and face.

I stepped into the shower. It was hard to resist touching him. When he opened his eyes, he jumped.

"Ivo! Sorry. You surprised me."

Moving aside, he let me rinse myself off. "Who were you expecting?" I teased.

He chuckled. "You of course, but I sort of got lost in the warmth and forgot where I was. It feels so good to be clean."

Stepping close to me, he pressed his lips to my neck.

"Tim, I'm not a machine," I said.

"And I am so grateful for that," he replied, squeezing my ass with both hands.

I pulled his hands away and reached for the shampoo. "I don't have the stamina you have. I'm much older than you."

He screwed up his face and pouted. "Whatever. Later then."

"Why don't you get dressed? Find some clothes of mine that fit you and I'll finish washing up."

He stood there looking completely rejected, but I smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips. This seemed to satisfy him and he smiled back.

"Tea?" he asked brightly as he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. "I'll just put the kettle on, yeah?"

Not bothering to dry himself off properly, he grabbed one of my old jumpers that was hanging on the back of the door and pulled it on. It was too large, the hem reaching the top of his thighs. As I washed off my body, I saw him wander off down the hall, rubbing his eyes and scratching the back of his wet head.

A steaming cup of tea was waiting for me at the table along with a tin of stale biscuits that had been in my cupboard at least six months. Holding a box of cereal in one hand, Tim was crouched in front of the refrigerator searching, I suspected, for something more appetizing.

"Shall I cook some eggs for us?" I offered.

He turned to look at me guiltily. "I'm sorry. The biscuits were the only thing I could find for us. I wish I knew how to cook."

"Well then, watch and learn," I suggested as I reached around him and pulled out the carton of eggs. He seemed enthusiastic at first, but after a while lost interest. He wandered distractedly around the kitchen opening cupboards and drawers. I finished cooking the eggs and took the pan off of the fire. Turning to the cupboard for some plates, I saw him staring at a framed photo he'd taken from one of the drawers.

"Is this Isabel?" he asked, holding the frame in one hand and tilting his head as he looked at the picture. "Why is it tucked away in here? Old girlfriend or something?" He laughed nervously even though his eyes twinkled. _**How did he know about her?**_

As if he'd read my mind, he explained, "You said her name in your sleep."

"My sister," I said, suddenly feeling very annoyed. I set the plates down on the table and took the picture from his hand, pushing it back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

"Right. I see the resemblance now that you mention it," he went on. He sat down at the table and picked up his fork. "Not too close anymore?"

I closed my eyes. _**Damn!**_ "Something like that."

He sensed my reluctance and took a bite of his eggs. "Sorry. It's none of my business… Wow! These are really good."

I was flooded with guilt. He'd been so open with me and I was shutting him out.

"She's died a year ago," I sighed, plopping down and picking up my cup. I nervously sipped the hot beverage and waited for his reaction. He set his fork down and stared at his plate.

"I'm so sorry, Ivo."

"Don't be. You couldn't know. Isabel was my twin sister. We were very close and I miss her very much. I dream about her often."

He wrapped his hands around his teacup and brought it to his lips. The silence was deafening.

"Do you want to hear about it?" I finally asked. I wondered whether or not he dreaded hearing about it more than I dreaded telling him.

He took his time answering. He played with his food, pushing the eggs around the plate. After a few minutes passed, he looked up into my eyes and said, "Only if you want to tell me."

Taking a deep breath, I launched into my story quickly before I could change my mind. I told him everything, about Mum and her abandonment, about Gran and her cancer, about Ewan and his betrayal and finally, when I could no longer put it off, I told him about Isabel and Kit.

"She met him while we were on holiday in Spain. He was older, incredibly handsome and very wealthy. He fancied her straight away and showered her with gifts and attention. It didn't take long for her to be drawn in. They seemed very much in love, but I felt that she'd abandoned me. I felt so guilty for not wanting her to be happy with him. I still do.

"They married a few months later and moved to British Columbia. Even though I spoke to her often by phone, I felt so alone. I hated him for taking her so far away and we found ourselves arguing often. We never used to argue.

"On the eve of their first anniversary, they planned a quiet celebration which included cruising out in Kit's yacht to view the lights along the shore of Vancouver and spend the night out on the water. Unfortunately, they drank too much champagne and fell asleep on the deck. For reasons I will never understand, Kit had neglected to lower the anchor and the boat drifted with the tide during the night. It slammed into some rocks and a fishing boat discovered the wreck the following morning. It took the police another day to find the bodies which had been swept out to sea and then tossed back several miles down the coast. The coroner told me that they probably slept through the entire ordeal, never realizing what was happening to them.

"They may have left me all of their worldly possessions, but they also left me all of the pain." My voice was a broken whisper by now. "I met Ewan a few months before she died and he helped me through a lot of the grief, but it stifled our relationship. He stayed with me for a long time, but in the end he told me that he needed to breathe. I was too old and depressing for him."

Pushing his chair back, Tim stood up and walked around the table. He sat down on my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck. "I'm sorry that I made you dredge all of that up." He kissed me lightly on the lips.

Trying to lighten the mood, I forced a smile and said, "Don't apologize. I warned you that you'd have to listen to my story eventually. Payback's a bitch." The corners of his lips curved upwards, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. _**I probably should have kept that last part to myself.**_ "That's enough about me. Tell me more about Leythe. Did you like it there?"

Looking away, he shook his head. "Not really. Let's not talk about sad things anymore."

_**Leythe is a 'sad thing'?**_

"I'm afraid the eggs are cold now." I said changing the subject. I pushed the cold mass around with my fork. "Why don't we go out for breakfast instead?"

His face lit up in delight for a moment then he frowned, "I think my clothes are still wet."

"No problem. I'll put them in to wash while we're out, yeah? You can wear some of my things."

He laughed, looking down at the jumper he was wearing. "I think they're going to be a bit big on me."

Undaunted, I continued, "I'm sure we can find something suitable in my drawers."

"I'll bet," he joked, pushing his fingertips under the waistband of my jeans.

"You are incorrigible," I laughed. Pushing him off, I stood up. "Let's go find something to wear."

It took a while to find clothes that fit him, but we finally settled on an old pair of sweats that I quit wearing because they'd shrunk in the wash. As I tied the laces on my trainers, it occurred to me that I could also take him shopping for some new clothes and a new pair of trainers. He needed to replace those worn things. I would definitely buy him a coat.

"I need my shoes. I hope they're dry," he said as he walked to the door. Almost immediately he returned to the bedroom, looking a little nervous.

"Ivo," he called, timidly. "There's someone to see you."

Curious, I moved around him and walked to door. I could feel him following behind at a distance.

Looking as uncomfortable as a bull in a china shop, Martin was hunched under the door frame with that silly scowl on his face. He was wearing his heavy black coat with brass buttons and that hideous ushanka. If it wasn't for the strikingly bright tartan scarf around his neck, he could have been taken for an officer in the Red Army. His bushy eyebrows were raised in surprise.

"Robbing the cradle these days?" he asked when he saw me. The scowl was replaced by a knowing smirk.

I was not in the mood. "What can I do for you, Martin?"

"Couple of things: Wondering if I could get a ride to school this morning. The weather is dreadfully cold and, well, I was going to invite you to have dinner with me tonight. There's someone coming that I'd like you to meet."

"I'm not going in today. Carson cancelled." He looked at me as though he didn't believe me. "And I'm busy tonight. I'm sorry."

"What so important that you can't come up and have dinner with an old friend?" he asked, staring over my shoulder. It was obvious that Tim was standing within earshot. "You must meet Luke. You'd like him. He's a new teacher in my department."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll let you borrow my car."

"Ivo, you know that I hate to drive, especially in this weather."

Lowering his voice, he said, "Please tell me that young man is not the rent-boy you've been obsessing over. On second thoughts, just tell me that he is not a rent-boy."

I felt my face flush with anger. "I don't think that's any of your business," I growled.

He held up both hands in surrender. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just hope you're making the right decision." He picked up his briefcase and turned away.

I closed my door and slowly walked to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, I watched Martin lumber down to the corner where I knew he could hire a cab. I sighed. Martin was a good friend and I felt remorseful for speaking to him that way, but he just didn't understand. _**He only means well, Ivo.**_

I felt Tim's hand curl into mine and I instinctively closed my hand around it. He moved closer and I turned my head to look at him. He didn't look at me. He just leaned his head against my shoulder and I began to wonder what it would be like to have him with me always.

* * *

**Comments? Thoughts? Send them to me in a review and I'll love ya forever. Mwah! Rach :)**


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